


Pink Bottles

by Eiiri



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex has the braincell, Ficlet, Gen, acetone, extremely mild Malex if you squint, nail polish remover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiiri/pseuds/Eiiri
Summary: Alex makes a practical observation regarding the aliens' use of nail polish remover, and concludes that they're all morons.(Based on my own tumblr rant.)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Pink Bottles

“You over did it,” Isobel said sternly as she stabbed open the foil seal on a second bottle of nail polish remover and handed it to Michael—the particular kind of stern that's thinly veiled anger that is itself a thinly veiled mix of worry and relief.

“It _worked_.” Michael tipped back the bottle casually, like it was a beer, but he still looked drawn and pale, sprawled across Isobel's sofa.

“I don't think that's really the point,” Max said lowly.

Liz snorted. “You're one to talk.”

Max glared at her. She put her hands up in a shrug.

Quiet, Alex picked up the empty discarded first bottle and read the back. “So, nail polish remover is to aliens as, what? Ibuprofen is to humans? Or are we talking along the lines of morphine?”

“More like morphine,” Max said. “Not psychoactive like that though.”

“Uhhuh,” Alex hummed slowly. “You always get this same remover.”

Isobel shrugged. “It's the brand the drugstore in town carries, yeah.”

“Always the pink cap?”

“Yeah.” Isobel crossed her arms. “Why?”

“You said it's the acetone specifically that's an analgesic—not anything else that's in this specific nail polish remover?”

“Yes.” Michael answered this time. “What are you getting at?”

“Is that an assumption based on your own observations, or has Liz scienced at it?”

“I scienced at it,” Liz said. “It's definitely the acetone.”

“Cool.” Alex set the bottle down with a _tack_. “You're all morons.” He walked right out of the house, ignoring the chorus of _what_ s and _hey!_ s behind him.

“Is he _leaving_ leaving?” Michael asked incredulously.

An engine turned over outside. Max nodded. “He would appear to be _leaving_.”

“What the fuck.”

About twenty minutes later, the growl of that same engine announced Alex's return. He found the aliens, plus Liz, pretty much where he'd left them, except now they had taquitos, mozzarella sticks, and what looked to be tiny spinach quiches. The must have raided Isobel's freezer.

“What was that all about?” Michael demanded over the back of the sofa, apparently feeling better despite still kinda looking like hell. “Where did you even go?”

“I went,” Alex said, limping more pronouncedly with the weight of carrying a heavy, uneven load, “to the hardware store. Where they sell these.” He hefted the rectangular, metal, gallon jug and balanced it on the back of the couch. “Pure acetone, by the quart and gallon. It's down the paint aisle, with the other paint thinners and solvents, because it's used to de-gunk shit, which I'd think you would know, Michael, considering that you are a mechanic at a junk yard and half your job is getting gunk off of shit. I guarantee you, buying a couple of these jugs is much less suspicious than buying an armful of nail polish remover.”

They all stared at him. For a long moment, they were quiet, then Liz burst out laughing. Max and Michael looked at each other.

“He's right,” Michael said. “We're morons.”

Isobel held up a finger. “In my defense! I'm a girl.”

Alex shook his head, came around the sofa, set the jug in Michael's lap, and sat. “Nope, you don't get out of this. As a girl who actually paints her nails, you should have noticed at some point that the pink bottles are _never_ the pure acetone remover. It's always _enriched for natural nails_ or some shit. Pure acetone is usually the white bottle, sometimes blue.”

Isobel looked at the floor.

“I probably should've picked up on that one,” Liz admitted, still laughing.

“Why do you know that?” Max asked Alex.

“He used to paint his nails!” Michael said like it was obvious, because, well, it had been.

Alex leaned back and crossed his legs, right over left. “For about five years, out of everyone in this room, I painted my nails the most regularly. Come to think of it,” he looked at his hands, “nothing stopping me from starting again.”

Michael grinned cheekily. “Even out of practice, I bet your pedicure time's down by half.”

Alex shoved his shoulder. “You owe me seventeen bucks.”

**Author's Note:**

> The tumblr rant that inspired this can be found here:  
> https://icannotreadcursive.tumblr.com/post/631999224749441024/actually-self-reblog-because-im-still-thinking


End file.
